


Silent Promises

by orphan_account



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Drummer Keith (Voltron), Drunk Sex, Dubious Consent, Gay Keith (Voltron), Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Keith (Voltron)-centric, Loss of Virginity, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Suffering, Suicidal Thoughts, Underage Drinking, and a whole lot of, everything is non-graphic tho, im not even sorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-24
Updated: 2017-11-01
Packaged: 2018-11-18 15:44:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 11,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11293734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: What's it like growing up without a home?It's lonely. It's painful.To Keith, it's just normal.





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Giving them silent promises, even if he wasn't sure what it meant yet.

Keith likes to think that he can fit his entire life into a worn out suitcase. It seems incredibly accurate, since he’s never really had anything to call his own that hasn’t been either destroyed, lost, or just left behind in one of the many homes he used to be welcome to.

He also likes to think that’s why it isn’t very hard to jump from house to house, switch to different foster homes all over the country. Whenever the agency gets a call, something about a fight or just his plain bad attitude, Keith would not waste any time packing his life into his bag and then travelling to his next destination.

He has books. He's acquired quite the collection with all the hopping around homes. Some of them are comic books, some of them are about topics he doesn’t quite understand yet. There is one about astronomy, one his father — his _real_ father — got him. It’s the oldest among his collection and has since then gotten its fair share of stains and rips, but Keith cherishes it anyway.

Then there’s his jacket. He wasn’t big enough to wear it yet (his father had gotten it for him for his sixth birthday but completely overestimated Keith’s size), but he didn’t think he could bear to leave it behind any foster home or orphanage. The sleeves still reached past his fingertips and he’d look goofy wearing it, but it was still good for cuddling whenever he had trouble sleeping.

The last item was a knife. Also from his father. He has forgotten when his father gave it to him in the first place, just knowing that it was a permanent presence in his life. Keith couldn’t picture a time of his life when he didn’t have it. It wasn't always within reach. Sometimes he kept it in his pocket, sometimes he kept it under his pillow — but it was always _there_.

It’s comforting that between the constant changing of homes, changing of towns, changing of parents — Keith could rely on these things to remain the same. He likes to think this whenever the feeling of loneliness crawls out and makes his body hurt all over.

If that didn’t work, he would look at the stars.

He could be in a different state living a different life, but the stars were always there. Maybe that was why Keith liked them so much. Sometimes he just had to get away from it all and find an empty spot somewhere far, _far_ away from the ever changing faces and then he’d wait for the night to come. He’d wait for the stars show up one by one until trying to count them put him to sleep better than any warm bed in any of his bedrooms ever could.

On nights that he couldn’t escape somewhere to look at the night sky, he’d just clutch his astronomy book tight in his body, holding it as if protecting it in case anyone ever tried to take it away from him. He would fall asleep with a feeling that was not quite sadness in his chest, muttering ‘ _someday, someday, someday_ ’ as he dreamt about the touching stars he loved so much. Giving them silent promises, even if he wasn't sure what it meant yet.

* * *

Keith is seven years old when he throws his first punch. He recalls his father teaching him to fight once, but he never really thought it’d be vital information. Never thought he’d ever need to use it on someone else out of defense.

He also never thought he’d ever have to use it on an adult. But, before he felt his drunk stepfather’s fist connect to his cheek, he supposes he never really thought about a lot of those things.

He learns the hard way — through scars and bruises — that sometimes the only thing that will get people to leave you alone is violence.

The feeling is exhilarating. Sometimes people did something or said something that made his clenched fists twitch in a way that made him realize it was more of an instinct than he thought. He thought about what some people would say to him, about how he should _hold his breath and count to ten when these things happen_. He should _be the better person, because he doesn’t know how another person might have it_.

But then he sees their sly grins, hears their obnoxious snickers. He knows too many people have tried to be the ‘better person’ for these kind of people, and that’s exactly why they've become like that. He doesn’t want to hold back for their sake, because he knows deep down that _they don’t deserve it_.

So he didn’t hold back anymore. Keith never let anyone push him around, trip him, call him ‘ _orphan_ ’ without a fight. He made sure that people didn’t see him as weak, that nobody ever used him as their punching bag ever again. At home, he was defenseless, he couldn’t fight back. But anywhere else and he was about as powerful as his fists were — and why not use it to make up for the times he’s never had the chance to defend himself? He didn’t care about the broken bones or bruises he’d receive after, just as long as he got the message across. _I’m not an orphan, I’m not an orphan, I’m not an orphan_ -

Then someone else would walk in. One of his parents, one of the kid’s parents. Sometimes a teacher or just another adult. Then the fighting would stop and Keith had to be dragged away and shipped back again.

Being pumped full of adrenaline and explosive emotions got him into trouble in a lot of ways. Sometimes the slightest remark said in a certain tone got him on the edge. There was no coming back after that. After that it was all blood and bruises and disappointment written all over his parents’ faces as if they expected their little foster kid to be perfect.

Somehow it was always his fault. Somebody always had to accuse him of starting the fight, of being a little too eager to get ‘physical’ for the smallest reasons.

Dragging his past into it made it worse than outright blaming him, though. He’s heard someone reason that he probably had anger management issues because of the way that he was raised. _The poor, little orphan boy who probably wasn’t raised right in those foster homes he’s been to — yeah, that must be it_. They say that behavior like this is expected from someone of Keith’s background.

It makes him feel like an experiment, an alien. When they sit there in the principal’s office or the hospital and spew out bullshit theories about why he might act like this, as if he was an entirely different species they had yet to completely understand.

Looking at the bruises in his small hands and trying to block out the sound of their voices, he thinks about how he’d rather be treated like a criminal than a science project.

* * *

It doesn't take long for him to figure that maybe he just doesn't fit in with other people.

People are an inconvenience. They fought and changed and left others behind far too often than he’d like. They liked pain, liked seeing it on other people and sometimes would even risk hurting themselves just for a good show. They surrounded themselves with other insignificant people because they needed something to make them feel better about themselves. They needed something to feel important, to feel _loved_.

Keith doesn’t need those things. He doesn’t have to surround himself with other people because he could tell that they all only wanted something from him, and he had nothing left to give. He was fine on his own, with his books and clothes and knife. He was fine talking to the stars (they listened and they never interrupted him), telling them stories of how he would become something else someday, something _bigger_.

So he left others alone. He held everyone at arm’s length and made sure they stayed there — if not by cold glares and harsh words, then by violence. And, slowly, people started leaving him alone too.

That didn’t mean that the scars ever disappeared, though. He found that those never really disappear.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He never receives outright confirmation about what he’s done wrong in that school to make them hate him so much, but he has a clue, has seen the words faggot written over his locker once.

Things cool down a bit when he starts middle school. Keith starts learning the act of simply becoming invisible, blending into the background instead of getting into fights and making a reputation for himself as a ‘ _troubled child_ ’.

  
And it was easy because he always had a redo button, a restart option. New town, new place, new people who didn’t know about him or any of the horrible things he’s done in the past (any of the horrible things done to him in the past).

  
The parents don’t get any better, but the people do. Keith doesn’t like his new town but he finds his own little group to sit with in lunch and it's oddly good enough for him. He finds that he actually likes not being alone all the time.

  
They all like comic books and one of them has a soccer ball that they end up using to waste time after class. They used it to stall on homework and Keith used it to stall on heading home. So he agrees to go with them all the time. Soccer is really fun and he prefers kicking the ball around and pretending to be one of those bigshot players on TV instead of locking himself in his bedroom.

  
Sometimes, while they’re busy eating the pizza leftovers from last night or taking turns in the game console, Keith wonders if this is what it feels like to be a normal kid. Everyone in his group of friends seem like normal kids. They have both their parents who don’t seem to hit them or starve them or call them names Keith got punished for repeating in class (his classmates all thought he was pretty badass when he came back with a detention slip, but he didn’t mention the fact that he didn’t really know the meaning of the word). Sometimes Keith is so busy being a normal kid with them that he forgets he has to go home to a life entirely different from the one he pretends to live out with his friends.

  
Aside from soccer, comics, and games — they don’t talk about much. Sometimes someone in the group would share something about a wacky experience they had at home, and Keith would smile and laugh along. He doesn’t share any of the experiences he’s had at home. At any one of them.

  
Lately, though, they’ve been talking about girls. Their teachers keep talking about puberty or something and how they’ll be experiencing a lot of changes in their body in the next few years. Keith listens with only half a mind, he doesn’t really care much about girls so he doesn’t think it’ll be a problem for him if he ever starts changing.

  
He _does_ start changing. But not around girls.

  
He overhears conversations about how you sometimes get this fluttery feeling in your chest when you're around girls you like, but he doesn’t really feel anything when he’s around girls. They’re pretty, he admits, and they smell good and are sometimes nicer — but that doesn’t make him like them more.

  
He starts getting the fluttery feeling, though. It is indistinguishable at first, something that could easily be mistaken for something else — but then his friend is laughing at his sarcastic remark and it’s there.

  
His friend isn’t anything like the things he hears from his classmates — he doesn’t have long hair or nice skin or a giggles in a cute, shy way — but he does have dazzling, expressive eyes and a wonderful smile that lit Keith up better than any of the girls in his classes could, though.

  
So, one day, he kisses him.

  
They just finished a round of soccer and Keith had lost, but he was okay with it because he was there looking so beautiful as he smiled in triumph. Keith went up to him and tried to make him feel all the things he felt through one kiss. _The lightheadedness whenever a smile is directed at him, the feeling of instant content and satisfaction at hearing their laugh, thinking that he is capable of doing anything in the world as long as he had-_

  
His friend pulls back, shoots him a look he didn’t quite understand before quickly heading inside the house. Keith isn’t offered to stay for dinner, so he doesn’t. He makes his way home before his friend could come back out.

  
The way back home seemed a little darker than usual.

  
* * *

  
They stop talking to him, all of them. So he stops trying.

  
Keith tries not to look at them while they’re laughing at something together in their lunch table or making their way to someone’s house to play soccer. He blocks them out usually, because he knows that staring at them too long will bring him to do something he might just regret.

  
He doesn’t mind much. He knows that he must’ve done something wrong, something to upset them with the way he acted — so he gave them distance and time and hoped that if those didn’t heal the friendship, then at least maybe they wouldn’t fuel the hatred.

  
But he still misses them. Occasionally, one of their eyes meet Keith’s. Then they look away, slipping back into their performance of smiles and laughter with the others.

  
After a few days, ignoring them and everyone else around him fall into routine. He doesn’t have anyone to joke with during class, so he finds himself focusing more and getting better grades. He also feels less tired coming home these days because he wasn’t spending time after class playing soccer, instead rushing to the school library to keep up with his schoolwork. Routine. It feels _natural_.

  
Then someone told.

  
Keith is pulled out from class to be informed that he is to be sent home immediately. His classmates are all quiet and giving him sympathetic looks, but he packs his things silently and pretends not to see it anyway.

  
Home is a mess. His foster parents are fighting, yelling at each other. Then they see him and it takes a while for him to realize that he’s being hit far quicker than he can register. Keith can still hear the noise and feel the pain in his bones and tears on his cheeks. It doesn’t take long for it to all disappear.

  
He honestly doesn’t remember much of that night when he wakes up. He doesn’t remember even years after the incident. But, sometimes, there’s the grip on his arms that is too tight or the sound of yelling too loud that snaps him back to the image of that ruined house and the two shadows above him.

  
When someone from the agency comes in his room, he’s told to packs his bags and get ready to leave.

  
* * *

  
The town he moves to next is just close enough that rumors of him spread even before school starts. Before he can even get to first period, people have already been passing whispers and glances around him, sharing what they know, what they've heard from someone else.

  
Being the center of rumors is not unexpected at all. When Keith goes to school, he is still healing from the bruises. And people can tell because somehow trying to hide it makes it even more obvious. He spends the first day alone.

  
And the day after that.

  
And the day after that.

  
Some don’t mind him at all, but most do not want to have anything to do with him. They just show it in different ways. Some just settle for a glance a few seconds longer than necessary, or a look of blatant disgust. Sometimes it escalates to pushing and shoving, maybe a few words under their breath. It gets to the point that he has to push back sometimes.

  
Surprisingly, he doesn’t get into a whole lot of trouble. Or, at least, he doesn’t _start_ a lot of trouble. He always says this, but he means it this time. He’s never done anything to any of these people, but that doesn’t seem to stop them from starting fights with him.

  
One time one of his teachers pulls him aside after breaking up a fight. She sends the rest of the kids to class, but she keeps him there, asking him questions that didn’t seem to help anyway. Keith just looks at the ground, or the retreating backs of the guys from the football team. He’s grown familiar with them by now, recognizing the members by how often they tormented him.

  
The one in the middle, Mike or Brad or some other stupidly mundane name, glances back at him and sneers. Keith hears from the teacher asking him questions that they’re gonna be on probation, so they will have to stay away from him for now on.

  
She tells him that sometimes, he just has to ignore them so he can stop getting into trouble. “I’ll ignore them if _they'll_ ignore me.” Keith deadpans. The teacher just sighs.

  
“Not everything can go your way. You can go and decide to do everything your way, but they’ll never leave you alone.”

  
Keith lies awake in his bed thinking this later that night. He never receives outright confirmation about what he’s done wrong in that school to make them hate him so much, but he has a clue, has seen the words _faggot_ written over his locker once.

  
He has an idea, though. So he acts on it.

  
He stops wearing his lumpy clothing and over-sized jackets, goes for the dark clothes and combat boots — the pair he’s seen so often as he passes by that one store on his way home. He’s always been afraid to ask for money to buy things, but his new parents are nice enough to offer.

  
One day he goes to school in tight black clothes and ripped jeans, ties his long hair into a ponytail (his foster parents are always getting on him about cutting it, but he likes keeping it this way). And he looks good. He knows he does because instead of stares, people gape at him. Sometimes there’s something in their eyes that tells him that he looks good in it. He wonders if they have figured this out.

  
When he passes his tormentors, most of them just glare at him, give him looks of disgust. True to what his teacher has told him, they are not allowed to start any more fights, so they ignore him.

  
Except that one guy. The one whose name Keith keeps forgetting. When Keith walks by, he notices that the guy stares at him far longer than necessary. Longer than what is considered normal.

  
He recognizes the look on his face because he's seen it on his face sometimes too. Then it suddenly makes more sense why that guy was always the one pushing him against the lockers roughly.

  
He wonders if the guy himself knows. Maybe he does and he is denying it. And pushing Keith around is his way of getting rid of it.

  
His suspicions are proven correct when the guy suddenly confronts him while they're alone in the locker rooms once. It was a fight, Keith forgot who started it. But the guy must've said something to make him angry enough, so Keith tries to punch him.

  
But his fist never connects with anything, the guy just shoves him against the wall and kisses him.

  
Keith panics, tries to get away. But the guy is stronger and Keith is trapped between his body and the tiled walls. When he feels a hand inching closer to his shorts, he twists his arm out of his grasp.

  
It's this movement that breaks the illusion. The football player steps back, looks appalled at himself. The disgust soon turns to anger when he looks at Keith, looks at what _Keith_ has made him.

  
Keith went home that day with a black eye. There is also a mild pain in his back that he decides to sleep off.

  
While he's rummaging for what to wear the next morning, he finds himself hesitating as his fingers lands on a familiar red and white jacket, one that didn't use to fit him. He makes the decision to take it to school, knows he needs more than anything to feel like he's not alone here.

  
When he passes by the football team that day, he walks a little faster. He doesn't like remembering what the guy’s hands on his skin felt like.

  
The guy's friends continue tormenting him in little ways after their probation. _He_ doesn't join in as often, though. As if every interaction between them will remind him of what Keith knew. Of what Keith _knows_.

  
And it's these times, when Keith’s watching him flirting with the cheerleaders or telling his friends about the latest girl he's made out with, that Keith doesn't know which one of them have it worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I once read a Tumblr post saying something like 'why have a gay character if you won't talk about their story' and it's probably why I have this chapter.
> 
> I love fanfics, Voltron especially, but I just find it sad that some people just write about Keith being gay (or any of them being gay) and never really going into what problems they might experience.
> 
> Hopefully I did Keith (and his sexuality) justice. And if anything about this sounds familiar, it's because I got this from that one scene of Kurt confronting his bully in Glee. Oh and also took a lot of inspiration from Drummer Boy by klancekorner and The Art of Letting Go by Sidi (great fics, you won't regret reading them!)
> 
> ...Actually a lot of this fic is inspired by TAOLG. Just throwing it out there so I don't have to continuously reference it, because it's so good and angst-y haha


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When he's being pushed into the sheets and opened up, Keith tries to think about saying his ‘I love you’s again, but all that's coming out of his mouth are moans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: suicidal thoughts, dubcon scene
> 
> Not outright said, but kinda implied cause that's how I write. If you're sensitive over these kind of things, I'm advising you to avoid reading this chapter (and maybe the entire story cause I'll be tackling these throughout).

“Hey, new kid.”

Keith tentatively glanced over his shoulder. There was a boy behind him — a senior, specifically — looking at him expectantly as he put away worn out books into his locker.

“Wanna join a band? We need a drummer.”

Keith just looked him up and down, uninterested. The first thing Keith noticed were his clothes, he took in the dark combination of ripped jeans and band shirts, a stark contrast to his bright red hair. And pretty blue eyes.

He shut his locker and got ready to leave. Because he's already seventeen, aiming for honors and just barely getting by with his part-time job, he doesn't have time to deal with boys with pretty blue eyes. “I don't play.”

He doesn't get to leave, though, because suddenly there's a hand on his shoulder that's turning him around. “I can teach you. We just need a new drummer.”

Keith vaguely recalled answering something like ' _l_ _ook somewhere else then_ ’. But, in his memory, he still found himself sitting in a small band room after class for practice. He’s forgotten how he got there, but he has a suspicion that it had something to do with the boy with pretty eyes, turning his legs into jelly and dragging him into the band’s official room.

The boy _does_ teach him, hands him his own drumsticks and everything. And suddenly Keith is practicing every day and even every night ever since his foster parents (he'd forgotten which one they were, he's lost count already) were nice enough to buy him a secondhand drum set. Because he is _good_ , he knows it and everyone he performs for happens to know it too.

He's also found himself stuck in another group of friends, and it feels like middle school all over again, eating lunch together and hanging out after class. Except the drinking, that was new.

Among his group of friends, his favorite has to be the lead singer, the boy with blue eyes and dyed hair that dragged him into the mess in the first place. He isn't always nice to others, but he likes to talk to Keith in a way that made him feel good about himself. The boy smiled at him a lot and always seemed to have a compliment ready for him.

Sometimes, in between practices, they all gather ‘round the room and rest for a while, laughing off the exhaustion and talking about meaningless things. Keith still feels different around them, still feels smaller and weaker somehow. Maybe it was because they were all older than him, he was the only freshman there. But he doesn't feel so weird around the boy, he feels secure.

So he stays just a bit later after practice, drinks just a bit more during parties just so he has a reason to stay next to him more.

He wanted to confess.

He's been turning the thought over in his head for days. And the chance came up, a party in one of the band member’s house because his parents are gone and a local bar offered to let them play every Friday night.

The house was packed with people he doesn't really want to know the names of, but they're all congratulating him to the point that it gives him a warm, happy feeling. During the height of the party, he settled down to just sipping his cup of whatever while sitting on the big couch in the living room.

 _No_ . He was sitting on someone's lap. Someone who was gripping his waist tightly and leaving kisses down his pale neck. Their hot breath tickled Keith’s ear as it came with the quiet words, ‘ _do you wanna find somewhere else to continue this_?’

The room is spinning, so he let's the boy carry him somewhere else. Keith's surprised they didn't fall over, since he was pretty sure their lips were sealed the entire way there. His eyes are closed too, but when they open, they look into those familiar blue eyes that weaken him in every way.

His head doesn't get any clearer when they crash into a random bed, pushing the sheets off to get comfortable. And they're already making out, with a hand down Keith’s pants when he remembers what he came there for in the first place.

“I love you.” He said in between their kisses, but the boy just pushes his tongue into Keith’s mouth and he can't speak after that.

That doesn't stop him from trying to say it all throughout, though. When he's being pushed into the sheets and opened up, Keith tries to think about saying his ‘I love you’s again, but all that's coming out of his mouth are moans.

He passes out before they finish.

When Keith wakes up, he wakes up alone. The sheets were almost completely pulled off from the bed, but at least he was left with a small corner of the blanket to cover himself. Aside from the bed, the rest of the room was kept untouched, the only things disrupting the serene image was the sight of his clothes that he discarded on the floor so carelessly last night.

Although his mind can only dig up snippets, he can tell what happened last night. He still feels the semen slipping down his thighs when he tries to sit up and grimaces at the feeling. His head still feels weird and pain shoots up his body when he tries to stand up for the first time, but he goes around to gather his clothes and put them on anyway.

From what he gathers, the sun is barely up yet. The room was still dark and the neighborhood outside seemed quieter without the noise from the party. He uses the time to sneak down the stairs — carefully avoiding the mess of spilled alcohol and plastic cups on the floor — and slip through the front door.

It was cold and dark outside, and Keith regretted not picking up the random jacket he found lying on the floor in the living room. It would’ve made the cold more tolerable, but he couldn’t help but wrinkle his nose in disgust at where that jacket had probably come from, considering he knew he wasn’t the only teenager last night who got laid.

It felt weird to think about how he had just had sex for the first time last night. People always talked about their first times as if it was meant to be an accomplishment. He didn’t feel any different, didn’t feel prouder or happier or more fulfilled. His backside hurt and his hips were still a little bruised. He just felt empty.

There was a voice at the back of his mind that told him something wasn’t quite right with what happened last night between him and the boy. When he got home, he had to crawl under his covers and sleep clutching his red jacket in his arms just so it would go away.

* * *

“New kid.”

Keith felt cold without his jacket. The skin on his arms had an uncomfortable tingle in them, and he couldn’t get them to stop. It set him on the edge. He gripped his chemistry book just a little tighter.

“Keith.”

He didn’t turn around, just kind of turned his head to the side. A good enough sign that he was ready to listen, but not quite ready to face him yet. Even from the corner of his eye, he could see the boy behind him. When he first met him, he always came off as a little dangerous, a little explosive — it was good because it was thrilling. Keith never really saw himself as someone who appreciated normal things, so he figured they would be a good match.

But now he just saw him for what he was. His t-shirt smelled like smoke, probably because he smoked before class and during class and after class. His arms were crossed, as if he didn’t really want to be here. Why _is_ he here? He probably thought Keith wouldn’t show up for band practice if he didn’t somehow explain things. As if he needed any other reason to talk to Keith other than the fact that they slept together just a few days ago. His ragged clothes and dirty shoes suddenly didn’t look very appealing, they just made him look like a mess. Like one of those douches who thought that dressing up that way made them look cooler.

“About last Friday...”

Keith turned around.

The blue eyes that Keith thought were beautiful when they first met just looked cold and scrutinizing, as if he has seen every part of Keith (which he basically has) and wasn’t all that interested.

“I didn’t mean to leave like that. Was just a little drunk and figured maybe I could slip off to cool down before coming back. You weren’t in the room anymore, though, so I just didn’t look.”

It all felt like lies spilling out of his mouth. He went on, stepping a little closer to Keith until his hand found its way on his hips, rubbing slow circles on the flesh (and it still felt raw to touch). It was then when he leaned close enough that Keith saw a hickey just under his chin — something Keith knew didn’t come from him.

But, here he was, rubbing his hips in a gesture that was supposed to be comforting but just felt violating. Looking at him with a face full of faux worry and concern, even if he was blatantly wearing a product of someone else’s affection on his neck.

“-so I just wanted to make sure this didn’t affect the band, alright?”

Blue eyes were fixed on him and Keith saw the silent message there. Keith figured it was _his_ turn to speak.

He swallowed and looked away. “I think you’ll have to find a new drummer.”

Keith took his things out of his locker and stepped away from the guy, putting a significant amount of distance between them before the messages registered. “ _What_?”

Keith took every last bit of his courage and looked at him in the eye. “Find a new drummer.”

Anger was definitely there. And a little panic, but it remained suppressed at the thought that the best can still be salvaged. The blue eyes were frantic, a nervous laugh left his mouth. “Keith, baby, it wasn’t that bad. We can just pretend it never happened.”

“Find a new drummer.” He said, sterner this time. And turned around and began walking away. The guy didn’t follow.

“We can’t play this week without a _drummer_. Keith, come on!”

Keith walked a little faster, tugged his sleeves down his arms just a little bit more. The sting from his touch still remained, but it was disappearing. It would disappear eventually.

He heard an angry shout behind him, a frustrated fist slamming down on one of the lockers.

* * *

His bed felt cold and empty, sometimes he wondered if it was because he deliberately chased away a guy who was willing to share it with him. Sometimes he wondered if it was because he shared it in the first place.

The days turned shorter without band practice. People went back to plain ignoring him or shoving him on the way to the next period. Sometimes he would meet his ex-bandmates and they would shove the hardest, he knew they were still mad at him.

He stopped getting invited to parties and concerts, just spent most of his free time in the library or in his bedroom at home. Sometimes, days just became too exhausting for him and he would crash into his bed at four pm. Fall asleep. Wake up at dawn.

It began to feel like the old days again, where he would fall into a cycle of being surrounded by people and being left alone a second later. The familiarity felt comforting, only because he was happy that something about him hasn’t changed yet.

It gives him an idea.

One Friday night, he sends a quick text to his mom to tell her he’ll be coming home late ‘cause he’ll be staying over at a friend’s house. He readies his stuff later that night, picks a spot he found during one of his first few months in the town. It’s surrounded by enough trees to conceal it from prying eyes, and there was a river just a few meters away.

Keith lied there thinking about what he’d be doing if he hadn’t decided to quit the band just a couple of weeks ago. He would probably be drinking right now, just before a show. Not too much, though, because he’d still have to save some for later.

If he played right into his trap, he’d probably be on the same guy’s lap all over again, making out while the rest of the party went on. He’d probably get just a little too excited again, maybe they’d find a room to do it in again.

Maybe he’d wake up alone again.

He willed himself to think of other things. Like the way the chill in the air was biting his skin, but at least it was the kind that didn’t leave bruises or marks. Keith felt different out there, he felt like he was watching a movie of another guy’s life, watching him make his mistakes and hoping he’ll eventually find his way to a happy ending before the credits roll in.

Out there, he felt like he could erase the memories of awful first times and drunk parties. Of being felt up in the locker room by the school quarterback. Of kissing boys in middle school and playing soccer. Of coming home with bruises and scars all over his body, of leaving home with even more bruises and scars all over his body. He felt like he could erase the memories of himself.

When the stars came out and the night turned cold, it felt like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so um not my best I think, because I'm working on a script at the same time right now. But it's been sitting in my files since forever, and I just thought I should continue it before I forget the flow. I might've forgotten the slow, that would explain why part of the story seem to give a different feel.
> 
> Anyway, I'm really hoping to introduce Shiro in the next chapter. I hope I'll be able to write it soon, because it'll be my way of thanking you guys for the support you've given.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t until he was sneaking back into his bedroom while the sun was coming up that he notices he still has Rolo’s jacket on him. For the first time in a long time, his room smells like cigarettes and alcohol again.

Keith woke up to the smell of smoke, something he was quite used to but didn’t really favor.

It also smelled like alcohol. A lot of things that brought on bad memories.

“Hey, kid. Are you alright?” There was a human silhouette standing above him, waving its arm back and forth. His tired eyes still couldn’t make out the exact image of the person above him, but he caught a blur of ginger hair and pale arms covered in tattoos.

When the guys helped him up, Keith noticed another smaller figure standing behind him, a safe distance away from them. “Hey, Nyma. D’you think we should bring him back to the diner?”

Blond. Light blue eyes. Slim figure, confident stance. “We probably should. He looks like shit. And I doubt we can bring him to his parents.”

Keith looks at them, notices how the girl named Nyma had a lit cigarette out already and how the other guy smelled like cheap alcohol. Something about them felt dangerous, how they handled themselves and how they stuck together not quite like lovers or friends would do. They both took the same unwavering stance in front of Keith that it couldn't possibly be mistaken for fear. No, they _certainly_ did not fear him. Something in their eyes told him that they wouldn’t hesitate to leave him there if he made the wrong move — it was careful, cold calculation.

It was caution. It meant that, if he wasn't worth the trouble, they would take their things and disappear just as quickly as they arrived.

Keith looks into the guy’s dark, half-lidded eyes right before it snaps back to the blond.

“Come on, kid. I don’t know if you’re drunk or stoned, but we gotta get you something to eat.”

* * *

Keith realizes that he probably shouldn’t be following a pair of strangers into a dark street late at night, but they hardly seemed to care about his existence as they walked into the quieter parts of town. Keith followed, naturally. They finally led him to the back of an old building, with the girl bringing out a key to open the backdoor.

They make Keith sit in the backroom, the employee’s lounge where all the lockers are. The other guy disappears off to the kitchen to try to see if they can find some leftovers for him and Nyma sits on the bench across him, bringing out a pack.

“Thank you for this, even though I don’t really need it.” Keith swallows, looks away nervously as he feels her piercing eyes pin him down as she lights up a cigarette. His slightly shivering hands find security in gripping the sleeves of the jacket the guy lent him after they noticed how cold he was.

“I think that’s the most we heard from you since we found you.” She says, takes her pack and offers him some. “Take some, it’ll clear your head.”

“Didn’t work before.”

Keith didn’t mean it as a joke, but Nyma laughs anyway. Then she smokes for the rest of the time spent waiting for her friend. Keith looks up while she’s looking away and notes how at ease she seemed with the silence. He supposes that Nyma was one of those people who were never deterred by the lack of conversation, but could jump into one and capture everyone’s attention as soon as she felt like it anyway. Keith knew Nyma had to be a special person if she was the type to keep a conversation waiting instead of the other way around, sitting back and commanding it to go at her pace.

It intimidated him a little. So he was glad when the other guy came back with a microwave-heated tuna sandwich and two bottles of beer.

Even with him present, Nyma doesn’t say much. They both seemed comforted by the silence, content with watching a strange kid they picked up near woods munch down on a sandwich while they smoke and drank from one bottle.

“Mind telling us why you were freezing to death a while ago?” The guy starts, eyes him a while before returning to his bottle.

Keith doesn’t really know what to answer, doesn’t know which one will make them leave him alone and which will make them stay. And he’s not sure which of those he’d prefer. “I felt like it.” He finally answers in a small voice.

Nyma laughs again and briefly touches her friend’s shoulder. “Can we keep him?”

It doesn’t sound much like a question, it felt like Nyma was already sealing the deal. The other guy seemed like he was used to Nyma’s not-really-question questions and just shrugged as an answer. “Hurry and finish up, kid. We gotta lock this place up soon.”

Keith just nodded and continued eating.

* * *

He thanks them while they’re locking up and ready to part ways. They looked eager to go to wherever it is people like them go to at 3 in the morning. Nyma just smiles at him and her friend nods, tapping the keys against the sides of his jeans. “You can stop by whenever you feel like camping out near winter without any covers sounds like a good idea. Some beer oughta clear your mind next time.”

Keith nods again and the words stick by him even on his way home.

_“Just ask for Nyma and Rolo. They’ll know.”_

It wasn’t until he was sneaking back into his bedroom while the sun was coming up that he notices he still has Rolo’s jacket on him. For the first time in a long time, his room smells like cigarettes and alcohol again.

* * *

The snow that covered the pavements had already reached ankle-deep by the time Keith found himself inside the rundown diner again. This time he entered from the front and immediately took in the emptiness of the place, with only six to ten customers occupying random tables and even less staff members behind the counter.

Not one of them seemed to care about his presence until he walked up to the counter and asked for Nyma and Rolo. The cashier perked up and let her eyes rake over Keith’s figure, turning uninterested afterwards. “Their shift starts at seven. You can come by then.”

Keith looks down at the bag containing Rolo’s jacket, but the cashier turns away to go to the backroom before he even had the chance to explain.

He ends up coming back at 9 pm.

The place turns less of a diner and more into a bar when the night rolls in. Upon entering, Keith was already greeted by the sight of customers filling the tables and the bar counter. The lights were dimmed and music blared from the speakers, the atmosphere felt quite different from when Keith visited earlier that morning.

Before Keith could turn around and decide it was a bad idea, somebody’s hand was already on his shoulder.

“Hey there. Looking for us?” Nyma gave him a charming smile as she balanced a tray full of dirty dishes in her other hand.

Keith just brought his hand up and held out Rolo’s jacket. Nyma seemed to understand and led Keith to the bar counter, told him to sit down and wait till he showed up. When he took a seat, Nyma even whispered something to the bartender and he immediately began mixing a drink for Keith.

When she looked back to see his look of concern, she raises a finely drawn eyebrow at him. “Are you underage?”

“Yeah.” Keith gulps nervously, even though he’s drank several other times in the past and not once did his age ever seem to concern him during those occasions.

“Great time to learn then.” Nyma chimes in and Keith hears the bartender laugh in amusement. Soon a mysterious drink is presented to him and Nyma gives him a pat on the back for support. “It’s called Silent Promises, one of this place’s very own inventions. Should be good enough for a beginner.”

Then she leaves and Keith’s left to make himself appear as unnoticeable as possible as he sipped his drink. It was just the right blend between sweet and bitter, it travelled down his throat heavily like it was too thick to swallow at some points. Suddenly, the name made more sense.

The door chimes signalling a customer, though, and Keith finds himself looking up at the worst time possible. Soon, he is making eye contact with familiar blue eyes that he hasn’t prepared himself enough to face yet, and his face turns sickly pale.

Keith’s not afraid they’ll hurt him, no — he’s afraid he’ll break down in front of all these people. He’s afraid it’ll turn into another scene, another rumor they’ll pass around about him even when he’s packing his bags to leave for the next home. Even long after he’s left already, his name will become just another town story, some urban legend.

So he abandons his drink and Rolo’s jacket on the counter and makes a run for the back door when the staff all seem too occupied to care.

It takes about five seconds for him to get used to the cold outside once more, ten for a hand to show up and roughly push him against the walls. Keith’s head is already throbbing from the impact when a fist smashes down on his cheek.

It’s never ending after that. Fist after fist slammed down on him until he could barely keep his eyes open, so much of his blood already splattered on the sidewalk. And the angry words are raining down on him, insults and threats laced together that made Keith remember that this was the same person he imagined himself dating just a few months ago.

And now all Keith could hear and feel is pain. Pain from someone he, not so very long ago, imagined a life with.

It seems to be that exact thought that brings him back. He kicks them off and gives them the same treatment. There were two of them, maybe even three — and he hits them with anything he could get his hands on, fights them the way his life has taught him how to.

And the anger — the resentment that was left within him and took its time to fester — fueled his attacks. The thoughts exploded as his fists came down on them again and again. Suddenly, he wasn’t empty anymore — he felt more alive than he did in _ages_.

Before long, they’re gone and he’s left alone in the empty space again, with nothing to accompany him except the blood splatters on the ground and long-extinguished cigarette sticks people have abandoned.

And Rolo. Who had just come out for a break and saw Keith battered and bruised. Looking up, Keith felt like Rolo knew exactly what he had just gone through.

Keith looked into his eyes, looking for the disappointment and pity present — but there was none, only understanding. Rolo eyed him up and down and gestured back to the inside of the diner. “Let’s get you cleaned up, kid.”

“Keith.” His throat felt oddly scratched up and dry “It’s Keith.”

Lazy, half-lidded eyes barely spared him a glance. “Hurry up, Keith.”

He dropped the lit cigarette to the pile of abandoned sticks already forming beneath the soles of their feet, opening the backdoor just enough for Keith to slip inside wordlessly.

* * *

Nyma doesn’t coo over him when Rolo brings him back inside in his trashed state. Neither of them seem to care or show much concern for him, instead they offered him a seat in the backroom and Nyma slipped another pack of cigarettes into his hand.

He doesn’t know when it happens, but they become a normal part of his life.

He can’t say they tell him much more about themselves, but Keith learns enough.

Rolo doesn’t like getting into fights, but he could defend himself pretty damn well and attack if necessary. Nyma has a thing for all kinds of music, so they save up to attend small gigs throughout the state every now and then. Rolo has a thing for tattoos, and he covers his arm with them because he feels like they make him look ‘less like shit’. Nyma’s named practically half of the special drinks the diner has on the menu, which means she also gets them half off.

And they've both traveled as much as Keith did, maybe even more. They jumped from place to place, putting their things down for a while but never really settling. Never really finding a home. So Keith tells him that he's been like that too, practically being shipped to a different house to a different family every year or so. "I like it this way." Nyma announces when the subject turned too sour. "You get to wake up to a different sight every morning. So if you don't like yours, you can just change it."

Life with Nyma and Rolo feels alright. He becomes a regular in the diner, arriving the moment school ends and staying in the counter until their shift ends. It was easy because he hardly did anything anymore — no band to keep him busy, no friends to keep him distracted, no job that consumed most of his after-school hours.

Their manager tolerates him enough, and Rolo slides him a free serving of French fries while he waits on selected days. Sometimes he does homework, but most of the time he just helps out. It gets to the point that the other regulars in the diner start thinking he’s an employee too, and the manager pulls him aside to “just sign up for a job so I won’t have to keep telling Rolo to pay you in French fries”.

He tells his parents a few days after that and they’re excited for him. He doesn’t know if he’s as happy about it as they are, the diner makes him feel at home more than home so he takes up the offer.

The next weekend, he found himself tying a black apron on in the backroom and starting his first shift at eight o’clock in the morning. Nyma and Rolo don’t come until seven, and the diner is pretty quiet during the day — so the rest of his shift usually involved cleaning the unused tables until his hands felt sore, checking on the food that no one was even ordering. Life was slow in the diner, and offered the kind of serenity he hasn’t been able to find in a while.

When the sun sets and the shifts change, though, Keith still stays. He doesn’t really have anywhere else to go. Nyma and Rolo come back from wherever they consumes their time during the day to take their shifts and that’s the only time Keith feels the diner is actually alive with customers.

At night, they open the bar. And Keith is technically not allowed to even be inside the establishment once they start mixing the drinks, but nobody speaks a word about it. The customers, who all seem like night regulars, pay him no attention either, too busy with drinking and laughing and flirting with the waitresses.

He mostly drank and talked to the staff, all pretty far tolerable, but none seemed to leave a mark as impressionable as Rolo and Nyma. Sometimes he watched the shows they performed or happened to have a conversation or two with one of the customers. Sometimes he feels their hands inching towards him a little closer than necessary — and he retreats.

He’s not ready for it yet, he knows he’s not. Not after last time.

Other times, though, the staff just let him hang out in the backroom. Even if it’s technically not his shift and he was supposed to be treated like a customer and not an employee.

One night, Rolo is telling him to call Nyma back from her break, though, so he just shrugs and heads outside, where he figured she would be smoking. But she’s not, so Keith checks the backroom, the employee lounge.

Keith is met with the sight of Nyma and his manager on one of the benches, both practically undressed. Nyma doesn’t gasp, but she certainly looks surprised. Not ashamed, however, like how her manager looked.

“Rolo was looking for you, said to tell you your break’s over.”

They just share a glance with each other as they both struggle to dress themselves as quickly as possible. Nyma looked up at him, and her sharp blue eyes held a request, no, a plea: _keep your mouth shut_.

“I was just heading out.” She said before leaving the room, taking her black apron like nothing had happened.

His manager fixed his disheveled hair and stepped close to Keith making his way to the door. “Not a word.” He brought a finger up in front of his lips and walked away a second later.

Keith turned around to follow them as they left, not missing the sight of his manager slipping a gold wedding ring back into his finger.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I lied and Shiro isn't in this chapter. But Nyma and Rolo are and I think they make up for it because I love them and I demand a second appearance in season 4 or something.
> 
> Also I'm super sorry if the writing turned out to not have the same effect as the previous chapters. I'm just really stressed about school right now (even though the term just started) and my anxiety is kicking in. Thank you so much for the people who have left kudos, or comments, or even just happened to read and like it without leaving any traces. It means a lot to me, and I hope I can fix my life a bit before writing the next chapter so that it comes out a little better.
> 
> (And Keith previously mentioned he had a job in chapter 3, but I forgot so let's just forget about that please)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Life seemed so different from what it was before. He never had a chance to choose much of what has happened to his life before, but maybe that time was ending.

A lot of people in the diner started calling that the time when Nyma officially took Keith under her wing.

Nobody else in the diner knew what made her do it. Keith doubted that anybody actually knew about Nyma and their manager in the first place except him and Rolo.

They never outright talked it through, there was no emotional confrontation. And, frankly, Keith was too tired for one anyway. He accepted what they did as a fact, something he knew his words or actions wouldn’t be able to change, and just tried to avert his eyes whenever he caught himself staring at the golden wedding ring on his manager’s finger too long to be considered normal.

Nyma and Rolo started treating him less like a kid they had babysit and more like an actual friend. He was told little pieces of their past that wouldn’t otherwise help Keith figure out what kind of person they were before they moved here six months ago. Like, how many sisters Nyma had. And where she watched her first concert. The name of her first boyfriend, how she broke up with him only two weeks later. Where Rolo learned to fight. What age he was when he dropped out of college and stopped going home, and what age he was when he met Nyma.

Most of the stories they filter out from his ears belong to a past they both don’t speak of — before they ran away from their homes. Keith doesn’t know why Nyma left, and Rolo wouldn’t tell him his reason either. But he knows minor stuff. And he thinks it’s good enough, because they don’t ask him about his life much either.

He also knows that Nyma and the manager have been together since the first month she started work in the diner. And that, twice every month when his wife takes their daughter to go over across the state to visit her family, Nyma spends the night in his apartment.

Aside from that, everything else is behind locked doors. They don’t meet anywhere regularly aside from the diner, so as to never be recognized, and they avoid showing up in places inside town too. Nyma is not allowed to visit his address on any other occasion and she is never to speak to his family if they stop by the diner.

Nyma follows those rules like her personal commandments. _Rinse, dry, repeat_ , Rolo said while he explained it to Keith once.

Although they seemed like the type to disregard orders, Keith quickly learned that Nyma and Rolo followed their own set of rules when it came to how to go about their lives. So when they told him that they never stayed in the same place for more than a year, Keith began to worry.

“Why not?” Keith asked.

Nyma glanced at Rolo for an answer and he only shrugged. “Don’t feel like being tied down to any place. I mean, think of it this way, people point at a spot in the world and tell you that’s your home, that’s the spot you’ll always come back to — no matter how far you go.” Rolo’s hands moved as he explained, it was mostly the only movement they had in the dark room. “But that spot doesn’t feel like home to you. Whoever says home is where you began is talking bulllshit. Not everyone needs a home. And if they did, it doesn’t always have to be the place where you start off.”

Keith contemplated on Rolo’s words. He still didn’t know what he'd do if they leave any time during the next six months, but he tries not to think about it. Because he's finally got a hook, an anchor to keep him chained to reality. Something that keeps his feet on the ground, prevents his life from spiraling downwards. He doesn’t know what he’d do if his life with them was suddenly taken away from him.

Life at school became somewhat stable, at least. Word got around that two band members picked a fight with him and ended up in pretty bad shape afterwards. Some rumors say a dozen people cornered him, he fought them with nothing but his fists and a metal pipe. Others say Keith ran a secret gang that were loyal to his every heed, and he got them to do his dirty work for him. As stupid as they sounded, he let them be, knowing it was the only thing keeping them away from him for now.

That meant that he could focus on what really mattered: his job and his grades.

And he’s never been compelled to try to be a _somebody_ in his life. From the moment he landed in his first orphanage, it started a steady realization that people like him weren’t meant to lead normal lives. It’s a fact he’s just had to live with without complaint. He looked at the students in his class dreaming about receiving a sports scholarship in a college outside of the state or praying for their acceptance letter to show up in their mail — and Keith knew he was never meant to _be_ like them.

His future always seemed so broken before, so unsure. He was a foster kid who was growing older every day, he would turn eighteen soon and it would be straight to the big, scary world for him. But there’s no denying the voice somewhere in him whispering ‘Maybe’. Maybe he could get into a good scholarship that would pay for his fees. Maybe his parents would adopt him for real and take care of him even after he turned eighteen.

Life seemed so different from what it was before. He never had a chance to choose much of what has happened to his life before, but maybe that time was ending.

 _This could be it_ , he thought sometimes, _this could be the_ home _Rolo was talking about_.

* * *

There was a man in his living room when he came home.

He looked like the poster boy for ‘ _perfect Asian son_ ’. Keith felt oddly out of place standing across from him, even if it was _his_ house.

“Hi. You must be Keith” The guy greeted chirpily, he held out a hand. His tall, muscular physique and sharp features didn’t seem to match the way he smiled kindly at Keith at all.

“Hey.” Keith greeted back, to be polite, but he didn’t take his hand ‘cause that would mean walking all the way over to the couch. And he was really just wondering where his parents were and what this guy was doing in their living room. “Uh, who are you?”

“I’m Takashi, but you can call me Shiro. My parents live next door, and I usually stay out of town for my classes.”

Keith nodded like it made sense to him, but he actually forgot that the Shiroganes even had a son. He took a step back fully intending to drop his things off and leave for work, but the doorbell ringing stopped him.

He opened the door and his parents stepped inside, each carrying an armful of grocery bags like they were preparing a feast. Shiro came to help (naturally) and had no trouble putting away the paper bags like they weighed absolutely nothing.

His mom also stopped him from walking out the door, telling him she called his manager for a day off anyway. So he ended up helping his mom prepare dinner for the Shiroganes.

There wasn’t honestly much to know about the Mr. and Mr.s Shirogane. They were just about as perfect as any couple could get — intelligent, successful, happily married to the person of their dreams, and seeing their son get sent off to a prestigious school that would likely secure his future forever.

They were _nice_ too, not the kind that would only obviously be for show. But they asked Keith questions like they genuinely wanted to know how he was doing with life. It was a bit overwhelming.

Shiro took after them, judging from how nice he was being, but his questions were putting invisible weights on Keith’s shoulders as dinner dragged on — where he planned to go to college, what degree he would take, would he ever move out of town to take it, would he consider a scholarship.

Keith ended dinner feeling oddly disappointed in himself, resigned to absentmindedly scrubbing the scraps of food off the dishes as the conversation their parents continued to have in the living room was tuned out in his ears.

Shiro then tapped him on the shoulder and asked if he didn’t mind any help. Keith’s hands were already feeling pruny anyway, so he said yes and they ended up washing together in silence.

* * *

It became a regular occurrence to find Shiro in their house from then on. Keith learned that it was the first time in months that Shiro has had time to actually spend vacation in his hometown, so that meant he was invading Keith’s personal space half of the time he was there.

Given the way they were so open about his regular visits, it wasn’t hard to figure out how much Shiro meant to his own foster parents. They had stories of Shiro staying over to help them with anything all the way from when his family moved next door, so it was no surprise how much like a son they saw him as.

Keith didn’t blame them either. They were never able to bear the children they desperately wanted, so he guessed it wasn’t unnatural to end up practically raising someone else’s kid and thinking of them as your own. Heck, they were practically doing that to Keith.

But every proud comment made and every warm smile sent to Shiro that Keith witnessed still felt like an invasion of privacy. Like he should leave the room whenever it happens and just come back when Shiro leaves. When his parents remember they actually have a son to raise now.

He tried to do that, though. Keith tried to avoid Shiro as much as possible solely because he didn’t know how not to act like a failure in front of someone who seemed so perfect.

But Shiro was apparently persistent on becoming Keith’s friend, so it led to him trying to help Keith in almost every way.

“Need help with your homework?” He could hear Shiro behind him, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“No.” Keith tried to answer as stoically as possible, but it he only ended up sounding like a grumpy teeanger.

Shiro just laughed behind him. “Yeah, your parents said you wouldn’t they said you’re pretty good with your studies.” Some footsteps. “Mind if I sit here?”

Keith shrugged without looking back and Shiro put away some book to sit on the edge of his bed. “Have you ever considered using those grades for something like scholarships? ‘Cause I think you can maintain it.”

“Looking into some. But I don’t know what college to go to and what course to take.”

“Well, you have some astronomy books here, so I’m guessing you’re interested in that?”

He turned out around to find Shiro flipping pages through his old astronomy book, covered with so much dust and each page lined with rips that he hardly opened it anymore. “It’s just a hobby.”

“Maybe you might end up enjoying it as a course.” Shiro suggested, walking over to his desk “Cause my university is still holding applications and I can help you with it, if you want.”

Shiro leaves his room not long after, and Keith gets a chance to google some application information from the university’s website afterwards.

* * *

Shiro showing up in his room and helping him out with his applications become a regular thing. Pretty soon Keith was turning in his application forms and personal records to Galaxy Garrison, ignoring Shiro’s proud and encouraging comments that honestly just unnerved him.

He wouldn’t admit it, but between the study sessions for his upcoming entrance exams and filling out application forms together, he’s grown to actually tolerate Shiro. The guy treated him like a little brother, so it was no surprise he started seeing Shiro as an older brother too.

Keith spent less time hanging out with Nyma and Rolo after work, less time in the diner in general. For the next few months, he poured his hours into studying textbook after textbook until he was sure his eyes began to bleed.

Even after that, he was still jittery the morning of the exam. Shiro bought coffee for both of them to hopefully distract him from thinking about the possibility of ‘ _what if_ ’.

“This is my favorite cafe in campus. We can meet here for lunch when you start your first day in Garrison.” Shiro winked at him as he handed Keith his cup. “It’ll keep your nerves calm even during the test, I guarantee it.”

Sure enough, the warm feeling did radiate through his body as he took his test in a room full of anxiety-driven students. Keith hugged Shiro for the first time as he exited the building three hours later, glad he finally got it over with and too relieved to worry about whatever his results might be.

* * *

He gets his results in January, in the form of a plain white envelope with the university’s seal dropped into their mailbox. Keith never remember feeling so scared before opening the letter, never remembered feeling so happy afterwards.

That night, his parents throw him a celebration. The Shiroganes come over and each of them hug Keith as a congratulations, but Keith hugs Shiro back the tightest. His mom cooks him his favorite food and he’s freed from the dish-washing responsibility for the night, instead being able to go straight to his room and crash into his bed as he felt months of dread disappear from his shoulders.

Not only did Garrison accept him as a student, he would be entering the campus as a full scholar. It was everything to secure his future.

He also got a text from Rolo while he was watching Empire with Shiro (it’s both of their favorites among the collection) about yet another party waiting for him back at the diner after Keith texted him about his acceptance to Garrison. Shiro, who was clearly close enough to read the text, raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

Keith’s spoken about Nyma and Rolo before, but Shiro obviously didn’t think they were good friends for Keith. Fortunately, though, he kept his mouth shut in front of Keith’s parents about the questionable activities Keith’s done with them.

Later that night, the Shiroganes leave and his own parents kiss him goodnight before retreating to their bedroom sleepily. Keith waits a couple of minutes before lacing up his boots for the party, climbing out of his window and outside the house easily from practice.

Just as he’s across the diner and watching the lights and music pouring out of it so late at night, he gets a text from Shiro.

 **_Call me if anything happens. Take care and have fun_ **.

* * *

Although Keith hasn’t hung out with them for ages, Nyma and Rolo still throw him a pretty great after party. His other co-workers all go to him and congratulate him, even some regulars he’s seen offer him their congratulations.

Rolo pays for two of his drinks and Nyma buys him an actual cake as a gift. Halfway through it, he was drunkenly eating cake at the counter while a band played in the stage. Nyma and Rolo left to actually do their job, but they stopped by every once in a while to waste time with him (which typically happened even on normal days). After a few minutes of sitting alone, a stranger that looks about his age slides into the chair next to him and starts a conversation.

Keith isn’t normally good at those things, but he was drunk and the happiest he’s been in a long time — so he couldn’t care less. He laughs at almost all of the guy’s jokes and probably sits too close for it to be casual. Soon, he finds himself being led into the bathrooms and pushed into a cramped stall, the guy’s tongue down his mouth.

He lets it be because it feels good, likes how the hands on his hips grip tightly enough to bruise. And the fact that they’re there fooling around in the bathroom stalls seemed more interesting to him than the feeling of the stranger’s hand down his pants.

A hand forces him down to his knees and the sound of a zipper being unceremoniously opened is heard before the stranger is shoving his half-hard dick into Keith’s face. He’s too tired to feel it, he’s too tired to care. He lets the stranger use his mouth and only wakes up when he feels a hand grip his long hair too tight.

It’s like a slap of reality. He gets glimpses of a memory from when he was young and still very broken, his parents looming over him and punishing him for kissing that boy in his backyard. Then the party he went to with his band, his bandmate pushing him into the bed and climbing on top of him.

Keith’s eyes widen in realization and he jerks away from the stranger’s body. Suddenly, all he wants to do is get away.

Some shouts are thrown his way as he clumsily fixes his clothes and storms out of the bathroom, leaving the stranger inside, no doubt furious and unsatisfied.

He’s still shaking by the time Nyma finds him and gets him to repeat to her what happened in broken sentences. She takes Keith’s phone and calls Shiro for him, because he tells her to and his hands won’t stop trembling.

No later than a minute, they get a reply. And after ten, Shiro’s car shows up in the back of the diner. Nyma hugs him goodbye and Rolo just apologizes. Then Shiro’s leading him to the backseat of his car and taking him home.

“Did you drink too much?” Shiro asked him once he’s inside and seems stable enough to answer.

Keith shook his head. No, it wasn’t the reason he was shaking, but he probably did that too.

“Did they make you do something you didn’t want to do?” His hands on the steering wheel grip tighter.

He shook his head again.

He was determined to keep his mouth shut until he reached home, afraid that opening it once would let out a fountain of memories he wouldn’t want to relive. Especially with Shiro.

But once they’re parked in the Shiroganes’ driveway and Shiro turned engines off, Keith spills.

He tells him about his countless other parents, about the first boy he ever kissed. He tells him about the football quarterback that cornered him in the locker rooms one day, about his first time during a party. Shiro listens to him quietly. And Keith’s crying by the end of it. Then he gets to what happened in the bathroom stall, how scared he was, how he wished he didn’t have a similar memory to compare it to.

He cries to Shiro’s chest that night and they both say nothing. Somehow, the silence is enough. And Shiro understands when Keith pushes him away that he’s ready to go back home.

Before he crosses the fence to leave the Shiroganes’ property, Keith hugs Shiro one more time and whispers “ _Thank you_ ” into his ear.

Shiro just hugs him back and whispers “I’m sorry.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promised I would put Shiro in here soon and here he finally is! Sorry if this chapter took too long, I was busy with schoolwork and I'm honestly still supposed to be doing it now. Anyway, hope you guys enjoyed it (please consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you did) and I'll get to writing the new chapter soon.
> 
> Also disclaimer: I have no idea how adoption and foster care systems in the US work, so I just went with what I know and what I've dug up from Wikipedia, so feel free to correct me on anything I got wrong (and since this is also unbeta-ad, feel free to correct me on any grammatical and spelling errors too)!

**Author's Note:**

> Decided to get into writing fanfiction again and wrote this as an exercise. I'm making it up as I go, so I think it's gonna come out a little messy.
> 
> EDIT: Sorry for abandoning this work, but I don't think I can manage a new chapter anymore, let alone an ending. Anyone interested can take the plot and words as their own, I guess. No credit required. I'm really sorry for the people I'm disappointing with this decision, but I really think this story is out of my hands now.


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